New World Man
by OrHowFar
Summary: Five people Sirius Black might have killed—and those whom he truly believed he did. oneshot, ficlet, rated for violence


**1.**

When he was nine, his brother.

Sirius was wrestling Regulus at the top of the stairs, and like their play fights in the past, they started to become less playful and too real.

Feeling the familiar swell of magic in his veins, Sirius shoved his younger brother away from him. Regulus stiffened as an electric shock grappled his body, then seemed on the edge of teetering forward or backwards; a breath, or, surely, a chance could have pushed him in either direction... then he toppled, and fell, fell...

Sirius was punished of course—by his parents. The approaching years brought with them whispers. His room was to be decorated in green and glinting silver.

**2.**

When he was sixteen, another student.

Egged on by anger, recklessness, and spite, Sirius told Severus Snape how to breach the Whomping Willow. _The knot won't be hard to see_, Sirius assured Snape, not even bothering to hide the glint and shine in his eye; _there's a full moon tonight_.

He went to bed that night and slept, curtains drawn against the bright moon.

The next morning the school was hollow and quiet. Remus was gone. James, his voice like an echo in empty halls, told Sirius that Snape sneaked his way into the Whomping Willow and met a werewolf. That the werewolf had mauled Snape until he was quite dead.

Sirius never told anyone.

**3.**

When he was thirty-five, a traitor.

Lurking within the safety of the borders of the Forbidden Forest, Sirius waited for the arrival of Peter Pettigrew. Rather, he waited for his ally who had gone to fetch the unknown and forgotten leak.

His ears perked. An almost completely silent _thump-thump, thump-thump _crackled through the leaves and sticks coating the ground.

Sirius was waiting.

The ginger cat arrived, and in its mouth was an unconscious rat; had it been a normal rat it would have appeared to be in shock. Solemnly, Sirius picked the rat up in his mouth and disappeared further in to the forest, swallowed by the black trees.

Several minutes later, Sirius felt the rat stir—then, realizing its predicament, begin to struggle.

Were he a human, he would have grinned; instead, a growl bit its way up his throat. Just as a warning, Sirius tightened his teeth around the rat. The rat stilled.

_Crack_.

Sirius was no longer holding a rodent, but a grubby, shrunken, dirty, disgusting man by the upper arm. Reacting in that one moment, Sirius transformed as well, wrestling the shorter, gasping man to the ground.

With a lurch, Sirius struck his knee into the man's ribs, who let go. He stood, circled his prey once, then slammed his foot into Peter's arm, just under the shoulder. With a snap, Peter's arm broke. He screamed and rolled in agony on the ground.

Sirius remembered the last time he had been face to face with this dirt. That time, he had been thwarted and had laughed at the sheer agony, rage, and _exhilaration _of the moment.

The familiar feeling rushed and jolted through him; this time, he allowed himself a grin.

**4.**

When he was thirty-six, an unknown witch.

She had spotted Sirius transforming from a dog, and as he wasn't yet out of the country or even out of reach of the Dementors, he had to make a decision. He needed to write Harry a letter, let him know he was all right, explain things he hadn't gotten around to explaining... but he couldn't allow people to know he was here.

She had started to pull her wand, and Sirius drew his. He could have and should have Stunned her, but instinctively he knocked her into the wall behind her; the bolt traveled from his shoulder to his arm. There was a crunch, then stillness.

Trembling lightly all over his body, he dragged her body behind a bin, turned back into a dog, then left.

He'd send Harry an owl some other day.

**5.**

When he was thirty-seven, his cousin.

Out of that house, helping and saving his son, his brother, his friend—the thrill of the fight shot through Sirius like electricity. He countered, parried, hurt, Stunned.

Now in battle with dear Bella, she shot a curse at him and missed. Sirius hated the familiar face, sunken like his, _similar _to his—hated it down to its expression, the manic joy in her eyes, the fierce glint reflecting the red and green and blue of spells.

He wondered if he looked the same.

Wanting to laugh in agony, in rage, in exhilaration, he knew she would take advantage of his loss of concentration. He would certainly take advantage of hers, should the moment appear.

His next curse he purposefully sent three feet wide. Bellatrix laughed, and asked him if that was all he had.

As she laughed, he took the moment, and killed her.

*****  
><em>strong enough to win the world and weak enough to lose it.<br>__*****_

When he was twenty-one, his best friends.

It was done; stealthily, silently. The switch had been made; Sirius kept up the already quite invisible illusion of being the Secret Keeper to James and Lily, while Peter—nearly defenseless, blundering Peter—the last person in whom Voldemort would expect the Potters to place this weapon—scurried their secret away to his hiding place.

_Lily, James, and Harry Potter are hidden at Number Thirteen, Pirell Lane, Godric's Hollow._

Now, not even Sirius would have been able to betray them. He was able to fight without fear of capture, without fear of the worst happening.

That Hallowe'en night, Sirius arrived at this secret place. Feeling weak, as his muscles twitched and moved of their own volition, as his head rushed and rang in the silence of night October, a thought, _one thought _struck him.

The top half of the house was nearly blown away. The wood and bits of roofing tossed about the yard were smouldering, occasionally flickering as a breeze twisted through the rubble. The wind gathered, lifted, and scattered the ashes of that last sanctuary.

Harry was in the arms of Hagrid; Hagrid's tears distorted rivulets into the blood trickling from Harry's forehead, staining the bundle of blankets. And as Harry's forehead bled, the bodies of Lily and James burned, becoming with the ash floating on the wind.

If only—

The thought that struck Sirius was that, tonight, it might be him who was killed.


End file.
